The Bargain
by Miss Pibbles
Summary: Loki, the second son of Odin, must find a suitable wife within the next cycle in order to secure his place as second in line for the throne. Arndís, a young maid of the palace, yearns for freedom beyond the palace walls; but what begins as a simple bargain quickly spirals into something that not even the prince himself can control.
1. Chapter 1

**I know, I know; I'm a horrible person and I deserve what's coming to me – but I just couldn't help myself with this one! It was prompted by some rather… steamy Loki imagines that were tossed back and forth between myself and my very good friend **_**the-bonny-wordsmith.**_

**Yes, this story is set before the events of Thor, so Loki's character is not going to be as evil, yet he will still retain his natural mischievousness with – maybe – a few darker streaks nestled deep within his personality?**

**We shall see! This **_**is**_** rated M for a reason! In the meantime, just enjoy what I have to offer!**

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_**Chapter One**_

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Loki's fingers curled around the goblet of wine that lounged in his hand; his father's recent words still echoing in his ears.

"_You must find a wife within the next cycle, Loki, should you wish to secure your place as second in line for the throne,"_ Odin had warned – rather than explained – and the words caused the golden goblet to instantly shatter in his hand.

The deep maroon liquid spilled over his wrist and trickled down his arm, and he scattered the remaining shards to the floor and wiped his hand on himself – his clothes now permanently stained.

"_Why must I search for a wife while Thor still does as he pleases?"_ Loki had argued through his disbelief. _"Thor needs a queen, does he not?"_

Loki had been right in his words, and Odin did not deny his second born that. Instead, the All-Father had tried to mask the irritation on his withered face, and lowered his voice so as to not fan the flames of the potential argument that could follow.

"_Your brother's coronation depends on finding a suitable wife,"_ Odin reasoned carefully. _"He will not be crowned until he marries; it is a delicate situation at best, my son." _

Loki now stood alone in his chambers, and he loudly scoffed to himself – something he wished he had done moments ago to his father. Loki then flew across his chambers and fell to the plush couch with an irritated huff, arms coming to fold over his chest almost childishly.

"_Why must you put so much scrutiny into this, Father_?" Loki had asked in an exhausted tone. _"I believe that finding a wife for myself does not hold such precedence over more pressing matters."_

Loki stiffened when Odin's visible eye went as sharp as a blade.

"_It is an old custom, Loki, that requires each member of the royal family in line for the throne to find a suitable partner for which to lead from beside him. I would not have survived as long as I have without the love of your mother."_

Groaning to himself, Loki stood from his seat on the soft upholstery and stalked over toward the enormous window that overlooked the extravagant gardens of the palace, entwining his fingers behind his back.

"_But I may never become King."_

"_That aside,"_ Odin had said firmly, _"I want you to find a wife – to make a life for yourself and live happily together."_

"_I have an entire lifetime to find a suitable woman,"_ he argued back, still not satisfied with his father's reasoning.

"_You have until the next cycle to find a wife,"_ Odin quickly stated in a tone that did not dare warrant any further words from Loki – whom was gaping incredulously at the older man standing at the throne above him and the words he had just spoken.

As Loki composed himself, he still opened his mouth to argue, and as he took in a breath, his father's next words caused what further argument he had to die on his tongue.

"_If until such a time passes and you have not yet found a bride,"_ he warned, _"then I shall choose one for you."_

With a loud yell, the fireplace beside Loki burst into an inferno, singing the walls around it along with one of the draping tapestries, while vase after fragile object shattered helplessly in the wake of the young prince's pent up frustration; how dare the All-Father bestow such cruel orders upon a son who was most likely never to assume the throne – and how dare he undermine his abilities to find a suitable bride?

It was adding insult to injury; he knew as well as Odin did that Loki would never assume the throne in his lifetime unless something tragic were to happen to Thor. The very thought of having to assume his brother's shoes due to an untimely accident made his heart constrict painfully; he loved his brother more than anything, but the fact that he was clear favourite among them did not prove to soothe his tattered emotions.

Thor was going to be King soon – if anything, _he_ should be assisting Thor in looking for a queen to rule beside him, not instead pushing Loki to find a wife to replace the sore wound of never going to become King of Asgard.

The next cycle was to turn over in one month's pass – nowhere near enough time for Loki to waste his nights flitting from one boring socialite ball to another. Yes, there were women who were after him, yet they only desired to be married to a prince who would grant them jewels and only the finest things that money could buy – a trait in women that Loki despised greatly.

He wanted a simple woman – not too pretty, not too embellished; with a hunger for witty repertoire – someone who could hold a conversation, and, most importantly, one who shared the same affinity for literature as he did.

But the noble women of Asgard were all too shallow for his liking – far too preoccupied with trivial aspects such as appearances and gossip. He could not stand a vain woman who would only prattle on about what she was going to wear to the next ball. It infuriated him.

Thor had slapped him across the back, causing Loki to choke on his mouthful of wine, and called him picky – that trying to find a woman with his few simple traits was going to take a lifetime, and that he should just settle on any woman of noble birth whom was healthy enough to bear children.

Yes, because finding a woman with a soul was, apparently, being picky.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Loki turned away from the window and placed himself in a different chair; one with wide arm rests and a towering head. He sagged low in the chair, and let one elbow prop itself on the arm rest and letting his hand rub tiredly at his face while the other rested next to him.

Why was this such an important subject? The disbelief still swelled within the confines of Loki's chest, and it burned him. Why couldn't he just find his own wife in his own time – and _why_ did it have to happen so soon?

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_**Please review!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**First of all, thank you to everyone for taking the time out to favourite, follow, and review! It always makes me happy to wake up and see those lovely emails! Anyways, I shan't keep you waiting! Enjoy!**

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**_Chapter Two_**

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Arndís was born with an innate sense of curiosity. Her mother had often called it a curse, while her father insisted that it was more of a blessing, albeit a troublesome one.

Despite the often negative connotations, Arndís never stopped exploring, reading, and learning – it was simply a part of her nature, and she thrived on it. She loved to read, and when she wasn't reading, she was sneaking out in the middle of the night to explore more of the vast brilliance of the palace and its surrounding gardens.

It was forbidden for a servant to leave the palace, unless ordered along with one of the members of the royal family or high council. However, Arndís loathed the strangling confines of the walls of stone, and so, after the hallways fell silent, it was time for Arndís to wake.

Whether it was out of her own curiosity, or out of the thrill that came with disobeying orders, Arndís continued to sneak out each and every night.

The night air was warm and pleasant, and Arndís smiled to herself as she slipped through and out of the secret passage that led to the private gardens. She had stumbled upon it by a simple accident during her first secret exploration of the palace, and it had become her greatest ally ever since. The secret passages were all interlinked, and because of that, Arndís was able to wander the great halls and chambers with ease, and without being noticed.

Arndís quickly sealed the passage before turning on her heel, ready to explore more of the western quadrangle. It housed much thicker forestry than the eastern side, with more exotic and sweet-smelling flowers that she was just itching to see. After discovering it last week, Arndís was intent on exploring as much as she could before someone noticed her continuous absence.

Her feet were silent along the stone walkways, which were surprisingly smooth to walk upon. Her dress, a plain, grey knee length servant's gown, swayed gently in the warm night air. Asgard was becoming warmer by the day, which meant that more and more of the exotic flowers would be in bloom, and this meant that it was edging over closer to the annual Odense – or, more commonly known as, the Festival of Flowers.

Every year, the grand gardens of the royal palace would be open on display to the general public. It was a time that recognized the changing of cycles – one of the most important events on the Asgardian calendar. Stalls upon stalls of food and other goods available for purchase would line the gardens, complete with lots of dancing, games, and so much more.

And Arndís had always dreamed of going.

Ever since she was a little girl, it had been her dream to attend the festival. But the life of a servant of the palace wasn't at all glamorous; chambermaids weren't needed during the festival, and instead, were ordered to remain to their duties.

It broke her heart.

But that was why Arndís insisted to sneak out and see the flowers for herself.

Quickly, Arndís ducked to the side and crouched behind a large pillar as a trio of guards walked past, weapons in tow. Their metal armour gleamed in the pale moonlight and clashed together like cymbals. Once they were out of earshot, she let out the breath she had been holding in as her heart thumped roughly against her chest.

Looking around to make sure that there were no more guards, Arndís slipped out of her hiding place and continued on toward the western quadrangle.

* * *

Loki was treading the thin line between humble tolerance and the overwhelming desire to rip his teeth out with his bare hands.

All around him, the festivities of tonight's banquet were in full swing; food and wine and mead were abundant, people chattered amongst themselves like old friends whom hadn't seen each other in years, and the atmosphere was light and warm. Loki desperately wanted to join in the conversation between his brother, Sif and the Warriors Three, or drink more of the free-flowing wine, or even participate in the swaying of bodies to the energetic music.

But Loki couldn't find it within himself to do anything except sit in his chair and let his mood dampen further.

Ever since his father bore the news of his apparent and impending marriage, Loki had been rather sullen – well, sour, was more like it. And as he was just about to not let the foulness of his mood ruin the night, he would revert back to said foulness when his mother would cast him a knowing eye, an eye that meant business – and the joyous mood of everyone around him seemed to only amplify what he was feeling.

However, this was no ordinary banquet. Loki was incredibly perceptive, and he was instantly aware of what the underlying tones of the banquet were once one of the servants had informed him that his attendance was required this evening.

And with the staggering amount of young women and their noblemen fathers flitting about the dining hall, one would have to be blind and deaf to not realize what this truly meant. His parents had orchestrated this evening with the hopes that one of the young noblemen's daughters would win his heart.

And it sickened him.

The power to freely choose his bride was being taken away before he had even a single chance to exercise it, despite his father's word on said power being his.

So far, a plethora of young women had tried to earn his attention at the beseech of each of their fathers; batting their eyelashes, swaying their hips and boasting about their massive wealth while whispering sweet nothings in his ear made Loki's desire to rip his teeth out all the more potent and alluring than any well-endowed Asgardian woman.

He had tried to humour each woman, but he just couldn't find the heart to play along. These women weren't here for him – they were only here to see who could snag the _lesser_ prince. They weren't interested in him as a person; even Heimdall could see that.

He noticed the way that each of their gazes would always drift toward his brother, and how they would longingly stare at the _better_ prince until they would eventually turn their attention back to Loki – who, graciously, would already be on his way.

Life in Asgard was notoriously shallow, and Loki could only tolerate it for so long before it would begin to grate on his nerves.

A slim brunette draped in a lily coloured dress seemed anxious to approach him, and before the poor thing could even open her mouth to speak, Loki had risen from his place and stalked past her without a second glance.

Loki was becoming agitated. He spied a gaggle of women glancing in his direction, and they seemed to be ushering the most timid of them to go over and talk to the prince – no doubt to extract information from him for their own purposes. Loki, on the other hand, paid them no mind. He was desperate to escape from the suffocating confines of the party.

A soft hand on Loki's shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

Turning, Loki was greeted by the warm face of his mother. Her eyes held a light scolding, yet her lips were turned up into an almost sad smile.

"Your father tells me that you are to be married," she said as she came to stand next to him, both sets of their eyes looking over the throng of people, yet not really paying attention to what was going on in front of them.

"Apparently," was all Loki could say in return. He knew that his mother had already been made aware of her son's current predicament. Frigga chuckled to herself.

"There are beautiful," she commented lightly, giving Loki a slight nudge. "Why do you refuse?"

"I do not refuse, mother," he explained. "I simply wish to find a wife in my own time."

The goddess sighed. "If it were up to me, my son," she said softly, placing her hand on his shoulder, "I would have it your way. But alas, it had been decided, and so it shall be done."

"Can you not sway him?" Loki asked suddenly, turning to face his mother. "Insist that he should focus on helping Thor find a suitable queen to rule alongside him?" His tone was hopeful, yet it was laced with an underlying irritation that his mother gracefully and humbly let slide off like water over the scales of a fish.

"Your father is stubborn, Loki. Even I, his wife, cannot sway him."

Loki sighed longingly, and for a moment, the two simply watched as some of the young maidens danced about, while others sipped at their wine. Loki wanted nothing more than to roll his eyes when he saw some glance over in their direction, hands over their grinning mouths in hushed whispers.

Loki groaned childishly when his mother nudged him subtlety.

"Why don't you go over there and introduce yourself?" she chided playfully. "They seem awfully nervous."

"I'd rather not."

"But just look at how they whisper about you," his mother cooed with a wry smile. And as Loki glanced in their direction once more, the group erupted into a fit of giggles. He knew his mother was watching him from the corner of her eye, and he blushed slightly.

"Mother…" Loki began, and the older woman placed a firm kiss to her son's temple before giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. He then felt her lean in close to his ear.

"Humour your father for one evening," she whispered. "Smile; be merry, my son. You do not have to choose a bride tonight."

* * *

Arndís walked on slowly through the gardens. The night air was silent, only the barest of breezes flitted through the air. The sky was black and littered with many stars of their celestial constellations, and Arndís smiled widely at the blanket of diamonds that twinkled above her.

She enjoyed the simpler things in life; the stars when they shone in the cloudless sky, the vast expanse of the outdoors, and books. Oh, how she adored books. She only had a small collection in her room, but when the weather outside was foul, Arndís would instead sneak into the library and read until she would pass out from sheer exhaustion.

Recently, she had spent her free time reading up on the rare and exotic flowers that would be shown in the festival. There was one particular flower that she was just dying to see – no doubt there would be no other chance in her lifetime to see it. It was the rarest flower of all, and she was lucky enough to be alive to see it.

It was a rare type of orchid – just like the ones on Midgard that she had also read about, but this was much more rare. The first difference between them was that this one only bloomed once every five thousand years. It never left any seedlings, and the root of the flower had been in the same spot ever since the dawn of the realm.

The second difference was the colour – Arndís' favourite part about the orchid. The tear-drop petals were the most brilliant shades of blues that changed constantly when in the sunlight. The firework of colours would begin as a sweet sky blue that burned into a royal cobalt that was streaked with gold. And, by nightfall, the shades would grow so dark that it would appear as almost black, that is, until the real event would begin.

It is said that the orchid shone like the phoenix – only much more beautifully. The gold would melt and trickle into the centre of the flower, which would ignite the golden flames. When the bloom reached its peak, it is said that it could be seen from anywhere in Asgard and even the Nine Realms.

However, the orchid would only be in bloom for a short time – a few hours at best. After that, it would be consumed by its own flames and burn – practically disintegrating right before their very eyes in a literal firework of embers.

And that would be orchid wouldn't bloom for another five thousand years.

Rigged with a newfound sense of determination, Arndís moved quickly now; the tang of the flowers grew thick in the air, and Arndís knew she was close.

Her heart pounded in trepidation, and just as she was about to round the last corner, something cold and hard hit the side of her foot and clattered noisily across the stone ground.

Coming to a screeching halt, Arndís yelped in surprise. Turning around, shehurriedly scanned the stone footpath. There it was, just to her left, near one of the cobbled retaining walls that housed a patch of red flowers.

Walking over, Arndís looked around the courtyard. There was no one in sight, not a single soul to be seen.

Strange; how could someone have dropped this if there was no one to drop it in the first place? It was rather odd. With one last look around, Arndís crouched down and plucked the small object from the ground.

It was smooth and cool – possibly made of some sort of gem or a precious stone. It hung from a thickly woven thread that Arndís immediately knew was made from real gold. Her brow furrowed; this object was incredibly expensive and most likely rare – how could someone have so carelessly dropped it?

Amber and golden tendrils wisped around within the oval stone like eels in murky rivers, and the gold glittered like the palace walls in the bright noonday sun. It was a breathtaking piece of jewellery. Arndís let the pads of her fingers brush over the amulet – it was now warm to the touch, almost like a glowing shard of contained fire.

But her awe was overshadowed by confusion. This surely must belong to one of the members of the royal family, of even one of the noblewomen of the high council. But, she wondered thoughtfully, how could have someone lost sight of this precious item? They must have dropped it, but, why weren't they out here looking for it? Surely they must be fraught with worry for its wellbeing?

Standing to her feet, Arndís let her eyes linger on the pathway that led to the rare orchid, and then back down to the amulet in her hand. Her mind was at a crossroads; she had come all this way, broken so many rules to come and see this flower that she would never again see in her lifetime, and she was considering giving it all up just to return a trinket that some careless noblewoman had lost?

Would she really have come all this way just to turn back now? This may be her only chance to get a look at the orchid. Despite it not having bloomed yet, the flower was still a marvel to see, even as a bud.

She could just keep the amulet with her and return it after seeing the flower. It seemed like a solid idea; she would have to confess of her crime of leaving the palace walls, but surely it would counterbalance the fact that she was returning something precious and rare that any other servant would have kept and sold for themselves?

Even if it didn't, she would just have to endure whatever punishment was sought fit for her crimes – after all, she did take an oath to serve until her last breath, to obey all rules and orders given without hesitation, and she had broken that oath willingly, and with full knowledge of the consequences that would become of it.

Arndís stood to her feet and slipped the amulet into the pocket of her servant's gown. She would go now, quickly, and see the orchid; if she was going to be punished, she may as well do something for herself before she was incarcerated.

Just as Arndís turned on her heel, she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head, and she screamed.

* * *

After humbly excusing himself from the company of yet another mindless woman, Loki bid his parents a short farewell. Thor had insisted that he stay and drink some more, and Odin didn't appear too pleased that he was leaving either, but Loki believed that he had humoured his father enough for one night – and his mother appeared to agree. Her kind words softened Loki's departure, and once Odin appeared satisfied, Loki slipped out of the dining hall.

Sighing heavily to himself, Loki tiredly ran a hand through his hair and began walking back to his chambers, intent on giving himself some truthfully earned rest.

It had been a long night, to say the least. Abiding by his mother's request to just indulge in his father for once, Loki had used every ounce of will to keep the same smile on his face until his cheeks hurt. It had taken a toll on his patience, a heavy one, but he pushed through; laughing at the appropriate times, and even dancing with a handful of those brave enough to ask.

Although, he had yet to find a single woman he could actually converse freely with. Many a time he had tried to steer the conversation away from the frivolous topics, but they appeared instantly disinterested or equally uncomfortable. In the end, Loki had stopped trying to control the conversations and instead opted to smile and nod at the appropriate times until they would eventually grow tired of him.

By the end of the night, Loki had gone through dozens of women, give or take, and even a handful of noblemen who boasted about nothing but their daughters and their family's proud heritage with outlandish claims of superior grandchildren and vast wealth – as if he hadn't both already.

And now, after tonight, Loki was even more repulsed at the idea of Odin choosing a bride for him.

The hallways were silent, save for the soft flickering of the dim flames that lined the stone walls. It was well into the night, not a soul in sight.

Moving swiftly, Loki rounded another corner, and he then slowed in his tracks when he caught the muffled sounds of struggle, accompanied by the faint clash of armour. The scuffing grew louder before he spied two guards rounding the corner, dragging someone behind them.

"Your Highness!" one of them called. "Your Highness!" The two guards quickly came to a halt and bowed deeply. The one of the left was clutching a young woman by her hair, and Loki's eyes flickered to her before resting back on the guards.

"We captured this little thief in the gardens moments ago," he reported as he roughly forced her to the ground. She yelped in pain, scrambling to her hands and knees. When she tried to stand, the same guard launched forward, wrought his hand through her hair, and ungraciously hauled her up to her knees.

Loki's eyes drifted down to the girl once more. Wild auburn hair framed with a pale face now stared up at his, eyes wide with fear and trepidation. Her lip quivered dangerously, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Thief?" Loki echoed, gaze still firmly on her.

The other guard nodded once. "Indeed, my Prince," he clarified. "We found this on her person." He then quickly moved forward to place a small object in his hand. It was an amulet – a common entity worn by all Asgardian noblewomen.

Looking back to the young woman, Loki immediately noticed that her hair was not of Asgard; such a striking colour was not found in the common genes of the native people. Her eyes, however, were of Asgardian trait. He had seen only a handful of intermixed beings in his lifetime, since a marriage between both were nigh rare, but not completely forbidden.

Though, it was interesting to see one so closely.

"What would you have us do, my Prince?"

Loki's eyes swiftly moved back to the two guards, who were waiting patiently for his orders. Usually, the punishment for thievery was not one that a member of the royal family had to issue; it was given out upon capture. However, just as he was opening his mouth to speak, he was interrupted.

"I-I confess," spoke the girl as she kept her eyes focused on the stone floor, "that I should have not left the palace, but my intentions were of good heart, your Highness. Please believe me."

The guards both scoffed, but Loki quickly held up his hand to silence them.

"Tell me, servant," Loki said. "Do you understand the gravity of your situation?"

"Yes, your Highness," she murmured weakly, looking up to face him.

Loki walked forward, hands clasped behind his back. The half-bred woman held his gaze, though the trembling in her shoulders belied her attempt to remain strong and defiant.

"And what comes of a servant who disobeys orders?"

"They are to be punished as your Highness sees fit."

Loki let a smirk fall upon his lips. "Surely you do not fear the repercussions of your actions?"

"I do," was her quiet reply.

"And yet you still disobey orders?"

The woman hesitated before answering.

"My intentions were of good heart," she said again, lowering her head. "Please believe me."

Loki's eyes narrowed. "These accusations are dire, slave," he said, dropping the last word carefully. "Most would be past the point of begging for mercy. And yet, as I stand here before you, I see that you do not beg, nor do you even protest these accusations. Why is that?"

"Because I am guilty, your Highness," she said as she met his gaze once more. "I see no reason to deny that which is true."

As Loki's eyes met that of the half-breed, it was in this moment that when she looked straight into him, the glint in her eyes was one that slightly perturbed him.

"So you admit to your crimes, and wholly accept the consequences of your actions?"

And she was not just telling the truth, she was blatantly throwing herself to the wolves – forwardly confessing her crime of leaving the palace walls in exchange for a lesser punishment than that of one crime she did not commit. It was everything from her posture, the bluntness of her words, to the glint in her eyes that told him that every word she spoke was nothing but truth.

"Yes, your Highness."

On the other hand, she could be lying.

It had been centuries since Loki had seen that glint in a pair of eyes, and one did not just stumble upon it by happenstance.

"Take this thief to the dungeons," Loki ordered.

The two guards gaped in shock.

"But, my Prince—!"

Loki stood back and held out the amulet by its woven chain. "I happen to know that this object belonged to one of the noblewomen whom attended the banquet earlier this evening. It is quite a rare and expensive piece with staggering worth." He then cast a dark glare to the servant girl, whose face was now stricken. "I have no doubts that she stole this with the intent to sell it. It is a most heinous crime to steal from a noble, and I shall personally see that she receives what she deserves."

Both guards seemed hesitant to move. They looked to each other, exchanging a look.

"Take her to the dungeons, immediately," Loki repeated, enunciating each word deliberately. "I will deal with her myself."

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